


The Beyoncé Suite

by skivvysupreme



Category: Glee
Genre: Anxiety, Babies, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Depression, Fluff, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Past Infidelity, Rimming, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 17:33:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5594884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skivvysupreme/pseuds/skivvysupreme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Welcome to The Beyoncé Suite, a snapshot exploration of the first few years of married life with Kurt & Blaine Anderson-Hummel, inspired by Queen Bey’s self-titled opus! You don’t need to have heard the album to get the ficlets, since they’re all specific to Klaine and pretty much in-the-moment. (Though it’d certainly be a nice touch to listen while you read, if you have it!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pretty Hurts

Blaine has his bad days. 

He sits on the bed and watches his husband standing in front of his wardrobe in only his black boxer-briefs, assembling his look for the night. Kurt is lean everywhere. His shoulders are broad, but his waist is  _ so tiny _ , his legs long and slim. His body is perfect for all those designer garments they both love. Anything he chooses to wear will look as though it was made for him. 

Blaine... not so much. 

His ass and thighs are as thick as ever. His little belly has returned, as it often does, fluctuating in and out of sight depending on how stringent he has been about his workout in any given week. This week has been busy, chock-full of preparations for his return to school, his start at NYU. He has eaten on the go, more fast food than fresh, only to collapse on the couch at the end of the day, exhausted, and settle in for the night with Kurt. 

Perfect, thin, beautiful Kurt.   
  
They're attending a Vogue party tonight. Blaine isn't dressed yet because—well, today is a bad day. He thinks about standing in front of the mirror, trying on this shirt or that one, seeing his belly pushing at his waistband—or worse, rolling over it. He thinks of himself next to Kurt at the party, surrounded by the fashionably slim, being introduced to Isabelle Wright as Kurt’s husband for the first time, and—oh god, the looks he's getting from the surrounding models in his head are enough to make him want to curl up in bed and never leave the house again. 

Kurt is staring at him, now. 

“What?” Blaine curls into himself a little, folding his arms over his stomach. He’s never been able to figure out what he looks like in Kurt’s eyes.

Kurt tilts his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he says, “Just appreciating how hot you are. You’re making me want to skip this party and just fuck you into the mattress for the rest of the night.” 

Normally, Blaine would take him up on that offer immediately. But today is a bad day.

He blushes and glances at the bedspread, wrapping his arms tighter around his belly. “Kurt, I…"

The smile drops off Kurt’s face as he takes a second to look at him, to assess his body language and the way Blaine’s curled up on the bed. Blaine knows it makes Kurt angry when he responds like that. Frustrates him. Or maybe—it disappoints him, for Blaine to not feel good about himself. Blaine sighs; he should have just smiled and not said anything, he should have just sucked it up—and in—and gotten dressed, he should have—

Kurt’s there, kneeling on the bed in front of him. He holds Blaine’s face between his hands and just looks at him for one quiet moment, his eyes on Blaine’s so big and concerned and full of affection that Blaine feels the corners of his eyes starting to warm with tears. Kurt pulls Blaine closer, tilting his face up, and kisses him, holding them together until neither can actually breathe and they absolutely have to part. 

“Kurt?” 

He pulls Blaine back in for another, smaller kiss, rubbing his thumbs gently over the apples of Blaine’s cheeks. “Whenever you hold me like this, I can feel how much you love me. I feel safe. Does it work on you?” 

Blaine nods, lifting his hands from his stomach to wrap them around Kurt’s wrists. “I know you love me, it’s just… I’m  _ this _ , I’m sorry.” 

“If you’re apologizing for being so hot that I almost pounced on you a minute ago, then I accept. But not for anything else,” Kurt replies lightly, kissing him again. 

“Kurt…” Blaine rolls his eyes and laughs despite himself, though the sound is still wet and sniffly and prompts Kurt to wipe under Blaine’s eyes with his thumbs. “Thank you. For accepting my apology, of course.”

“I know I can’t make you see what I see, but I’ll never stop trying. I love you and I’m so proud to call you mine.”

“Me too. I love you.”

“Now… as much as I’d love to keep my stunning husband all to myself tonight, so he can wreck me like he always does,” Kurt purrs, nipping at Blaine’s earlobe, “will you please accompany me to the Vogue party and let me show you off?” 

Blaine laughs again, his mood suddenly so much lighter than it has been all evening. Slowly but surely, they’re getting better at these bad days. 

“Okay.”


	2. Haunted

Kurt thinks back to something his father told him once: if there aren’t any roles out there for a performer like him, he should write them himself. 

Back in high school, when they did  _ West Side Story _ , and Blaine earned the role of Tony… well, Kurt chose, right then, that he could not and would not resent Blaine for winning it. He knew that Blaine was a “certain type” and that he was a “certain type,” and that while Broadway loved unique performers, they weren't necessarily making them into leading men. 

Knowing that hasn't discouraged Kurt from performing, of course. He’s about to graduate from NYADA, and he’s made sure he has something to show for it. Pamela Lansbury, for its short lifespan, was a fun experiment and a popular attraction in the local cabaret circle. His growing portfolio with the retirement home has even stirred up some buzz in the indie theatre community, and has been more fulfilling than he could have ever imagined, allowing him to bring happiness and motivation to his fellow overlooked performers and giving him the chance to create and modernize shows both new and old. He isn't afraid to evolve. 

Of course, sometimes it would be easier to be a performer like Blaine, who doesn’t necessarily have to. Blaine’s type has been a standard for casting directors since the days of Cary Grant and Gregory Peck. The roles are there, if he wants them, because he can pass. But what does passing really mean in this day and age anyway, besides a bunch of heteronormative, patriarchal bullshit? 

Kurt’s over it. 

He doesn’t need to fit into someone else’s box. Besides, he learned a long time ago that he can’t. (This is the only thing he will ever say he cannot do.) He will write the roles he wants and display his talents in theatrical interpretations no one has ever seen before, in styles from from avant-garde to straightforward. Or maybe queer-forward, he muses with a wry grin whenever gender-bent rewrites start spinning through his head. Shakespeare, Austen, Dickens… they could all use a few updates. 

And, this way, as an added bonus, he can choose his own co-leading man. He already knows Blaine will support him, just like he always has, because as Blaine says, either they fly together or they don’t fly at all. 

God, Blaine would make such a brilliant Rose—Ross?—to his Jack.

The show must go on. And if the show has to go all over the place to do so, well, Kurt is up to the challenge. 


	3. Drunk In Love

“Fuck, Kurt—please, now, now—”

“Not—you’re, no, don’t want to hurt you.”

Blaine groans, holding Kurt in place with an arm around his neck. “I need you. I’ve been thinking about this all night.” The gala had been exquisite torture, patron after patron approaching them to gush over Kurt’s accomplishment in costume design, praising him as an innovator, a tastemaker, an artist with that needle and thread. And pride was an aphrodisiac, mixing with the complimentary champagne and well-stocked open bar to fill Blaine’s body with an irrepressible need for his gorgeous, talented husband.

And this is how he ended up in his current position, sat on the kitchen counter with Kurt between his legs, stretching him open with his fingers. Their pants, underwear, and suit jackets are all strewn somewhere on the tile floor. Blaine feels Kurt’s hard cock rubbing up against his and tries to shift so that Kurt slips inside, but Kurt edges his hips back each time.

“A-are you sure?” Kurt asks, blindly patting the counter for the open bottle of lube with his wet hand. He keeps twitching forward with every move back, clearly aching to be inside his husband as badly as Blaine wants him there but trying not to go too fast.

Blaine pushes the bottle into Kurt’s hand. “I’m sure. Want to feel you as much as possible.” He leans his head back against the cabinet as Kurt slicks himself up and spreads an ample amount around Blaine’s hole. It’s dripping everywhere, but Kurt would rather err on the side of too much than not enough.

When they’re finally wet to Kurt’s liking, he lines himself up and looks at Blaine, keeping his eyes on his face. Blaine smiles, holding Kurt’s face for a kiss, then reaches down and spreads himself open with both hands, waiting.

The burn is a lot. But Kurt goes slowly, slowly, inch by inch, watching Blaine’s face as he shakes and tries to breathe through it. Kurt starts to rock his hips, little thrusts in and out, working his way inside, and Blaine gradually relaxes and lets him in. Blaine likes this burn and stretch, they both know it, and as they look into each other’s eyes, there is such _trust_ there, Blaine welcoming the push and knowing that Kurt’s trying his best to take care of him in the midst of it all.

When Kurt bottoms out, he swivels his hips, grinding deep. “Blaine, fuck, you’re—talk to me, need to know—”

Blaine just moans, letting go of himself to wrap his arm around Kurt’s neck again and press their foreheads together. “Yeah, _yeah,_ god, so big—love feeling you like this, come on, come on.”

Kurt cradles an arm around Blaine’s waist, his other hand going to the cabinet next to Blaine’s head, and starts fucking him, hard strokes in and slow slides out, pulling groans from Blaine on every thrust—

But Blaine needs more. He puts a hand on the counter and squeezes Kurt’s shoulder with the other, giving himself some leverage, and starts slamming his hips against him, harder, faster, riding Kurt’s cock until Kurt has to plant his feet on the floor and his hands on the counter so Blaine doesn’t push him back too far. He's going to be sore and he doesn't care, he just _wants_ —

“Unh—shit, _Blaine_ ,” Kurt whimpers, his eyes and mouth wide open as he watches Blaine working himself on Kurt’s cock, chasing his release. “Can’t—I can’t last long—oh _god_.” He clenches his eyes shut, his arms trembling.

“It’s okay, let me feel you.”

Kurt presses his face into Blaine’s chest, wrapping one arm tight around his back and fucking him with no restraint. Blaine cries out, but he takes it, encouraging Kurt with little endearments, moving his hand up into Kurt's sweaty hair. He's panting and murmuring into Blaine's shirt, shaking the way he does when he's _almost there—_

And then Blaine clenches around him, and Kurt goes still and shudders into his chest, _“B_ , oh god—”

Blaine keeps riding him through it, until Kurt is spent and softening inside him. Kurt hisses, oversensitive, and pulls out, wincing at the sight of Blaine’s hole and his tight balls and purple cock above it. Blaine’s still rutting desperately against the air and whining like he can’t help it.

Kurt’s breathing hard, trying to get some feeling back in his legs as he leans against the counter between Blaine’s spread legs. “Oh, wait, I’ll—”

But Blaine doesn’t—or can’t—wait. He reaches down and grazes his fingers through the mix of lube and Kurt’s messy release, now dripping out of him, and starts jerking himself off. It only takes a few strokes before he’s biting his lip and coming hard all over himself, gasping in relief with his head thrown back against the cabinet.

“Holy shit, Blaine…” Kurt moves to the side, dropping to his elbows to the filthy counter so he can rest his head on his folded arms.

Blaine just lowers his legs and slides down to the floor, laughing.


	4. Blow

Blaine is thick and salty in Kurt’s mouth, his hot, silky skin sliding wet between Kurt’s lips. He loves the feel of Blaine rock-hard against his tongue, throbbing and jerking every so often into the back of his throat. They’ve been at this for what feels like _days_ now. It’s Kurt’s new favorite game with Blaine’s dick, now that they've both gotten busier and having time to slowly dismantle each other is rare: take Blaine, soft, into his mouth, work him up until he’s panting, moaning Kurt’s name—and then back off, bring him back down, let his breathing even out.

And repeat.

“Kurt, please. _Please_.” Sweat dampens Blaine’s skin, his cheeks flushed, spreading their red down Blaine’s neck and into his chest. He digs his hand into Kurt’s hair, trying not to buck in Kurt’s mouth, just as Kurt hums around his dick and then slides off.

“Not finished with you yet, honey,” he says, letting Blaine’s dick slap wetly where it falls onto his stomach, dropping his mouth lower to kiss at the base. Then he goes even lower than that, sucking at that spot behind Blaine’s balls, pressing and stroking with the tip of his tongue.

Blaine’s cock jerks again where it lays hard and pulsing on his heaving stomach. He’s breathing hard, whining, his attempts at words dissolving into moans. He spreads his legs open wider and tilts his hips, giving Kurt better access.

“Mmm, _never_ finished with you.”

Blaine’s thighs are trembling on either side of Kurt’s head.

He moves his mouth over to Blaine’s upper thigh. “Shhh, almost there, baby, almost there,” Kurt murmurs against his skin, leaving long, gentle kisses, soothing him even as he pushes Blaine’s knees to his chest. Then he slows, the press of his lips softening and softening until he’s barely touching Blaine at all. Kurt lifts up onto his knees and just stares, his own hard cock standing up from his lap as he takes in the sight of Blaine spread out in front of him.

_Bring him back down. Repeat._

Blaine blinks his eyes open, his long eyelashes a little wet. He’s grasping at the sheets, keeping his legs where Kurt put them, his chest still rising and falling as he lays there panting. "Kurt?"

_Fuck. Look at him._

Kurt lowers again, kissing the inside of Blaine’s thigh, and takes one of Blaine’s hands, gently uncurling his fingers from the now balled-up sheets in his fist. He brings it up to his own cheek. "Put me where you want me," Kurt says.

Blaine slides his hand around the back of Kurt’s head and pushes him down as he tilts his hips up a little more. He guides Kurt past his cock and down to his rim.

"Knew it."

"Stop talking," Blaine groans, pushing Kurt’s face against his ass.

Kurt sinks in, licking hard around Blaine’s hole until he’s wet and starting to open around Kurt’s tongue. He glances up, and he can see Blaine’s stomach rising and falling as he breathes hard through his open mouth and rides Kurt’s face. Kurt whimpers at the sight, rutting his hard dick against the sheets, and works his mouth even harder.

When every pant begins to taper off into a high-pitched moan and Blaine’s squeezing around Kurt’s tongue, Blaine digs a hand into his own hair and whines, “I need to come, please, I need it, I need it—”

Kurt removes his tongue.

Blaine _sobs_ , begging him not to stop again, but Kurt just shushes him, cooing, “I know, baby, I know.” He scoots up a little farther on his knees, twists one finger as far as he can inside Blaine’s ass, and sucks Blaine’s cock back into his mouth.

Blaine twitches, then spurts and spurts and spurts down Kurt’s throat, coming for so long and so loudly that Kurt finally thinks he might have pushed him too far. He coughs, swallowing as much as he can, then hurriedly wipes his mouth and crawls up the bed. Blaine’s trembling and there are tears streaming down his cheeks.

His heart thumps uncomfortably in his chest. “Oh my god, are you okay? Shit, it was too much, I’m so sorry—”

Blaine waves a weak arm in Kurt’s direction, reaching out until Kurt grabs his hand and laces their fingers together. “Kurt, no,” he pants, grinning dazedly at him. “I— _Jesus_ . Fuck. That was—that was the best blowjob in the history of blowjobs, it _had_ to be, god damn—”

“Yeah?” Kurt laughs at the look on Blaine’s face, like he’s been drinking for the past hour instead of getting head.

“Yeah,” Blaine sighs, reaching up to kiss Kurt before he flops back down. “I loved it. If you give me a minute or two to get my shit together, I can return the favor.”

Kurt rests his chin on Blaine’s chest, his dick softening against Blaine’s leg as he watches him come down. “Take your time, baby. I can wait.”


	5. No Angel

_“I am a work in progress.”_

They agree not to share discussions from their separate therapy sessions—which both chose to maintain when they returned to New York—unless they feel that the subject is something the other needs to know about. There are some things that they can fix together, and there are some things that they can't.

The former is what they meant in their vows. The latter is another matter entirely.

Kurt’s anxiety spirals out of control in their second year of marriage, shortly after he graduates from NYADA. He doesn’t sleep enough, and his meticulous, calculated part of his nature takes a turn for the ritualistic. He’s often at Blaine's throat, no matter how many different ways Blaine tries to support him, and though Blaine recognizes the signs from a mile away, he doesn’t know what to do about it. Everything comes to a head when Burt calls late one night—for a completely innocent reason, but when someone calls after 11 PM, Kurt fears for the worst—and Blaine comes home to his husband having a panic attack on the living room floor.

Kurt asks for help, which is a step forward for him in its own right.

He invites Blaine to his ensuing therapy sessions. Kurt's therapist helps them find the current roots of Kurt’s anxiety—graduation, his career path, the future—and determine ways that Kurt can tell Blaine what he needs so that Blaine can help in those moments when self-expression is more difficult for him.

It helps. Including Blaine in his therapy seems to break down a wall for Kurt, because now that Blaine has seen and heard exactly what’s going on, Kurt sees no point in withholding it from him. And once he learns to show those monsters to Blaine, they get fewer chances to grow inside his own head and overwhelm him, and he gets better at defeating them. When Kurt’s anxiety becomes manageable, getting as close to unnoticeable as it ever gets—because like some jagged-edged version of his shadow, it never just _goes away_ —Blaine stops going to therapy with him, and they return to their normal.

Blaine’s depression is a very different beast. Kurt tries to pin its onset to something—Blaine admitted that he became depressed after they broke off their engagement, after all—but sometime during Blaine’s third and final year at NYU, it seems to flare up out of nowhere. Kurt does what he can to be there for him, to try and make sure that he takes care of himself and stays active, but it’s not as easy as either of them hoped. Blaine is constantly exhausted, no matter how much sleep he gets and how many medium drips he orders. His self-esteem dives again, and there are more bad days than good ones. His interest in sex fades to a trickle, and then to nothing.

This worries Kurt most, and not just because of his own investment in Blaine’s libido and its place in their relationship. Blaine has always been physical, has always used touch to connect with people in the most literal sense, and to see him withdraw this way scares the shit out of Kurt.

“Blaine, please… I think we need help here. Outside help, because I don’t know what you need. I’m sorry. I… I missed it, last time. I wasn’t there.”

Blaine isn’t sure how to explain to Kurt that there is no “last time,” that this feeling—or lack thereof—has ebbed and flowed for some time now but that Blaine’s ability to smile through it isn’t what it used to be. So, he invites Kurt to therapy.

This is how Kurt learns that Blaine was actually diagnosed with clinical depression three years ago, and was prescribed medication that he stopped taking once he started to feel better. After the initial burst of anger at Blaine’s omission, and then embarrassment that he didn’t know about it, Kurt listens, and asks Blaine what he would like to do. Neither believes that simple coping mechanisms will be enough to solve a chemical imbalance in Blaine’s brain. They both agree that he can’t go on like this, in any case.

Blaine chooses the medication, and with Kurt’s help, he sticks to it. Blaine, as both of them know him, slowly returns. The bad days don’t disappear entirely, of course, but the good ones start to outweigh them again.

They don’t know how to solve everything, nor can they. But they’ve learned where to start, and how to keep trying, and that’s half the battle.


	6. Partition

Kurt’s rushing around the apartment, putting the finishing touches on his outfit before he and Blaine head out for the night, when he stops suddenly, his fingers still rubbing over the buttons but not continuing their path down his somewhat complicated jacket. He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, looking Blaine up and down where he sits at their dining table. He lets his gaze rest rather pointedly on Blaine's lap, licks his lip again, and then his fingers start moving again, only this time, they’re going up, slipping the buttons free before they grasp the lapels and pull the jacket off Kurt’s shoulders.

“What are you doing?” Blaine asks, his cock already starting to stiffen against his zipper at the hungry look in Kurt's eyes. Kurt has been restless and on edge all day, and maybe this is why. But they have to get going soon. Now, really, though _five minutes ago_ would have been even better, because they're supposed to meet up with Elliott at their new favorite club and they’re already a little late…

Kurt sits down slowly on Blaine's lap, shifting around in a show of getting comfortable but really just grinding against Blaine's dick. The pressure has Blaine groaning into Kurt's neck, mouthing at the skin just above his collar and breathing in his cologne and aftershave. He loves it when Kurt frames his body like this, straddling Blaine with his arms around Blaine's neck and his long legs keeping him in place. He loves that Kurt is bigger, and he happily tucks himself against him whenever he has the opportunity to be held this way.

Kurt shifts even closer, and Blaine feels hard heat pressing against his navel through Kurt's pants. He starts rocking his hips and sighs in satisfaction, taking Blaine's mouth tongue-first as he tightens his grip around Blaine's shoulders. “You always feel so good,” he mumbles against Blaine's lips.

Blaine shifts as best he can under Kurt’s weight and slides his hands down to squeeze at Kurt’s ass, putting him where Blaine needs him. He rocks them together, tilting his head back so Kurt can guide the kiss. “You—you too. God, Kurt.”

“When’s the last time we did it like this, hmm?” He punctuates his question with an extra hard thrust against Blaine.

“We— _unh, fuck_ —we usually have more— _oh_ —more time. Kurt, we’re suppo—” Blaine cuts himself off, the heat rapidly building in his belly. His hips jerk up against Kurt’s ass, the pressure almost painful at this point.

Kurt gasps, adjusting himself on Blaine’s lap and spreading his legs more to try and line them up. “You’re so hard,” he whimpers, letting out a low moan when he presses them together just right. They’re matching now, rocking in perfect rhythm, giving in sync. “Forgot how good this can be, just like this. _Oh_ —we’re gonna be so late, but—make me come, make me come, Blaine, _please_ —”

Blaine forgets all pretense about keeping them somewhat neat and unbuttons Kurt’s shirt, pulling the fabric open roughly until he realizes Kurt’s tie is still on. He tugs it loose, leaving it hanging limply around Kurt’s neck as he takes care of the remaining buttons at Kurt’s collar, pushing the shirt aside to get at his neck. He goes straight for that spot under Kurt’s ear, immediately ripping a loud, choked off moan from his husband as he nibbles and sucks at the skin. The sound pushes Blaine even closer to the edge, and with Kurt now frantically dry-humping him, sending their chair legs scratching loudly across the floor, he feels like he could come at any moment.

“More, more—”

Blaine moves his mouth down Kurt’s flushed chest, nosing his open shirt aside a little more and taking a nipple into his mouth.

Kurt bucks, sobbing into Blaine’s ear as he curls around him and comes in his pants, and Blaine follows a few moments later, burying his face against Kurt’s chest with a shout.

“Shit… okay, we—we have to get going,” Kurt sighs, letting out a giddy little laugh and rising gingerly from Blaine’s lap, very much aware of the sticky mess in his underwear. “Let’s just change our pants and then we can—”

Blaine lifts Kurt’s tie from around his neck and pushes his open button-up off, leaving Kurt shirtless. “We’re not gonna make it to the club, baby.”

Kurt watches with renewed interest as Blaine drops his own pants and underwear to the floor. He steps out of them, leaving them right where they landed, then grabs Kurt’s hand and leads them towards the bedroom.

“What are we going to tell Elliott?” Kurt asks, biting his lip in anticipation.

“Tell him the truth for all I care,” Blaine replies, ripping his bowtie from his neck. “You’re not leaving my sight tonight.”

 


	7. Jealous

It’s not that Blaine doesn’t trust Kurt.

Blaine is very much aware that he's the one with certain history in that department, but he’s never been great about other, attractive men hanging out around his attractive husband. Old fears are hard to get rid of, and the terrible idea that one day Kurt might realize that there are plenty of interesting, gorgeous men out there who are not Blaine still creeps up on him from time to time.

Kurt has always garnered attention, but his comfort in who he is—and his comfort in his body—has only grown since Blaine has known him. That kind of confidence attracts interest. And other men are not shy about it, especially not at NYADA. While Kurt is shrewd enough to weed out the ‘sycophants,’ as he refers to them, he’s a sucker for flattery that he can tell is sincere. He always has been. Where Blaine might duck his head bashfully and shrug off compliments, Kurt lights up. Praise sets a certain sparkle in his eyes, lifts his whole demeanor, softens his voice to something sweet and deceptively demure. He often doesn’t realize when he’s all but _basking_ in it.

That’s not exactly fair to Kurt, though, Blaine thinks. Kurt is an incredible person who deserves that praise and flattery. Kurt deserves to have his name in lights. Kurt deserves everything.

But, as Kurt tries to remind him, and he struggles to remember: Blaine deserves all of that, too. Blaine’s been working on not minimizing his own value. It’s one of the key points he established with his first therapist back in Ohio, because it quickly became apparent that Blaine’s tendency to keep his feelings to himself until they exploded, his urge to cling, his need to please, all stemmed from his fear that he wasn’t good enough to keep around.

So, he tries not to compare himself to others. It was hard, for a time, to deal with Elliott—Blaine cringes when he thinks back to their early interactions—and how comfortable he and Kurt are with each other. Before Elliott, Blaine had never seen Kurt be such close friends with another gay guy. And objectively speaking, Elliott is hot. Elliott is talented. He’s also kind and funny and playful and brave and a myriad of other things Blaine tries to be. But that’s not actually a problem with Elliott. Even on that awful afternoon when he barged into Elliott’s apartment accusing him of trying to steal Kurt, as though that was even an option, as if it was something Kurt could have wanted—it was never about Elliott, not really. The fear that there’s someone out there for whom Kurt would leave him, like most of Blaine’s fears, has always been about Blaine’s belief that he isn’t enough.

Jealousy, after all, is rarely about the other person. It’s an “It’s not you, it’s me,” kind of thing.

Though Blaine may not be a “cool, tattooed, glitter-rock vampire”—again, Blaine cringes, and he wishes he could stop with all these regrets but he supposes that means he’s growing and maturing as a person—Kurt loves him. If nothing else, Blaine knows that much. Kurt married him, came back to him, came back to Ohio _for_ him. Kurt Anderson-Hummel loves him, and that’s his trump card whenever his insecurities try to show their hand.

At least, until he can fight them on his own.

 


	8. Rocket

The backwards slide onto Blaine’s cock is agonizingly slow.

Kurt pants all the way down, breathing hard into the quiet air of their bedroom, and after one long, steady press, his ass finally meets Blaine’s hips. He can’t see Blaine’s expression, facing away from him like this, but the groan Blaine makes and the way his hands tighten around Kurt’s small waist tells Kurt all he needs to know.

“God, Kurt,” Blaine sighs, his voice reverent as he digs his thumbs into the dimples of Kurt’s lower back. “I love how you look sitting down on me.”

Kurt grinds his hips, shivering once he’s gotten his husband’s thick cock as deep inside himself as he can, and pushes Blaine’s hands a little lower. As Blaine kneads the top of his ass with his thumbs, Kurt lets all his weight rest on Blaine’s thighs. Once he’s relaxed and comfortable, he looks over his shoulder and says, “You like seeing me all spread open for you?"

Blaine nods.

"Gonna watch, gonna keep me full?”

“Ungh—you can’t keep talking like that or I’m gonna come in 10 seconds.” For good measure, Blaine snaps his hips up, pulling a surprised and giddy laugh from Kurt.

“Then come on, fuck me—ah!” Kurt cries out, his moan sudden and high-pitched as Blaine thrusts up and into him so hard that Kurt nearly unseats himself when he bounces back up. He spreads his knees, leans forward, and plants his hands on the bed between Blaine’s legs, holding himself steady. All his bravado disappears in an instant; his voice is small, shaky when he says, “Don’t stop, don’t stop, _don’t stop_ —”

Blaine doesn’t. He uses all the leverage he has with his shoulders against the headboard and his heels dug into the mattress to fuck Kurt from below, pulling Kurt down onto his cock with that vice-like grip on his hips. His pace isn’t hurried, but it certainly isn't slow; Blaine rocks them together until Kurt settles into the rhythm and starts pushing back to meet him when he thrusts forward.

The thing about this position, about the feel of Blaine’s strong hands gripping his waist tight, the way he can't see Blaine like this but can feel every spring of tension in his body and every inch of him inside, is that even though Kurt's technically straddling him, he feels completely enveloped in him. Especially when he lets Blaine control the pace; this is trust, not being able to see him but knowing from the way Blaine touches him that he'll take care of him, the way Blaine’s thrusting hard and making sure Kurt feels everything. Blaine knows Kurt’s body. He knows what he needs and when he needs it. And that's the best part about Blaine knowing him; Kurt can let go, can _submit_ and just ride it out.

He's safe.

When Kurt starts to whimper with every rock of their hips, grasping at the sheets as his thighs tense on either side of Blaine’s, Blaine just holds him tighter, speeds up his thrusts but maintains the power behind them, finally starting to hit that spot inside him.

"Come on, come on," Blaine chants, sliding one hand around to wrap around Kurt’s cock.

Kurt pushes his hand back where it was. "N-no—just hold me?"

Blaine squeezes at Kurt’s waist again. "Okay, okay, I've got you. Here, I want to—" He gently pulls out, and Kurt _whines_ at the separation. "Can you bend over for me?”

Kurt does as he’s asked, his back bowing under Blaine’s hand resting between his shoulder blades until he can press his cheek to the mattress. Blaine sits on his knees behind him, pulling Kurt into his lap and bending over him, one hand gripping at his hips and the other stroking through Kurt’s hair. He kisses at Kurt’s shoulders as he slides back inside of him and keeps thrusting.

“ _Yeah_ , oh god, you’re right there,” Kurt groans, sensation jolting up his spine, building and building with every brush of Blaine’s thick cock across his prostate. He feels sensitive everywhere, Blaine’s hands and lips squeezing and roaming all over him as his own swollen cock throbs and bobs, thus far untouched, between his legs.

Blaine sucks kisses at the base of his jaw. “So gorgeous, Kurt, I love when you’re so open and ready like this. Is it good for you, baby?”

Kurt gasps out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “ _Yes_ , do you really need to ask after all these years?”

“You know I like to hear it.”

He looks over his shoulder, kissing whichever part of Blaine’s face he can reach until Blaine curls around him a little more and presses their lips together. The contact amplifies everything—they both like being kissed when they’re being fucked—and soon, Kurt’s eyebrows are scrunched together and he’s panting against Blaine’s sweaty cheek. “You feel so right in me, you fill me up so well—”

He feels Blaine pulsing inside him even before Blaine says, “So close, I—I wanna come with you, are you—?”

Kurt reaches down and moves the hand Blaine’s got on his hip around to his cock. “Yeah, yeah, touch me— _Blaine_ —”

He can tell exactly how close Blaine is. He tries not to squeeze around him until he can feel himself tipping over the edge, but when he finally does—

“Kurt! Oh—oh fuck, fuck, _yeah_ —”

Kurt screams into to the mattress, Blaine mouthing at his back as they both come.

There will be bruises on Kurt’s hips tomorrow. He can't wait.

 


	9. Mine

The silence in the apartment is thick. Kurt sits at the kitchen table, cradling a hot mug of chamomile tea between his hands. Blaine is in their bedroom with the door closed — they promised that they would give each other space when they needed it, but wouldn’t walk out. Never again.

It has been two and a half excruciatingly quiet hours since the fight.

Ostensibly, the fight had been about money. The catalyst was an ultra-expensive dinner, a surprise reservation email in Kurt’s inbox with a short message from Blaine: " _Dinner’s at 8, I'll meet you at home!!!"_ Kurt’s excitement had been immediate, but short-lived. After looking over the menu's prices, Kurt had gotten so anxious (and angry) that he never responded to Blaine’s email, and once they were both home, Kurt tore into him.

Blaine had responded in kind.

And now, Kurt sits, his hands twitching around his mug as he strains his hearing, listening for any hint of Blaine’s movements inside their room. There had been no zipping suitcases—an initial jolt of pure panic, which Kurt had had to force back with several deep breaths and alphabetizing the spice rack on the kitchen counter. No footsteps. No shuffling. No crying, as Kurt had done in silent frustration while he stirred his tea.

He's not angry anymore. He just sort of _aches_ , the feeling both heavy and hollow in his stomach. He regrets how he reacted. He regrets the things he said to Blaine. Actually, now that he's had time to think, he regrets everything, and though he wants nothing more than to tell Blaine that, he isn't sure if his presence is welcome yet.

It’s so quiet in the apartment that the fight keeps echoing in Kurt’s ears. He puts his face in his hands. They bicker about little things, as every married couple does, but he can’t remember the last time they yelled at each other like that.

At some point, he’d called Blaine an “impulsive child.” So Blaine called him a “fucking asshole.”

Kurt sighs into his tea. He’s supposed to be getting better at this— _confrontations and conversations are not the same thing_ —but he failed today. He failed Blaine and himself and their relationship and he really does feel like a fucking asshole now.

He walks over to their bedroom door and knocks three times, softly.

There’s a moment, one that feels like minutes but is no longer than his next breath in reality, where nothing happens, and Kurt’s heart starts to sink—but then he hears rustling fabric, the purposeful slide of socks on carpet, and the door opens.

Kurt barely has a chance to get the words out before Blaine steps forward and tucks his arms under Kurt's, wrapping his arms tight around his middle and resting his chin over Kurt’s shoulder.

"Blaine, I'm so sorry," Kurt sighs, pressing his cheek against Blaine’s and wrapping his arms around Blaine’s neck. "I overreacted, I wasn’t fair to you, and I—I wasn't even upset about the money, not really."

"But you were right, we need to watch our spending. We're supposed to be trying to save. I should have asked so we could choose the restaurant together, we’ve both been so busy and I just wanted to surprise you—"

"No, listen, I know I've been really... stringent about it, ever since we started talking seriously about a baby, but—a fancy dinner with my husband isn't taking food out of our future child’s mouth. One dinner won't make or break us in the long run."

"Big picture."

"Yeah. Big picture.”

Blaine guides them to the bed and sits down.

“I’ll be ready in ten minutes, okay? We can still make it uptown.” Kurt quickly catalogues his appropriate jackets in his head, maybe a change of shoes, refresh his hair—

Blaine shakes his head and kisses Kurt’s forehead. “I cancelled the reservation.”

Kurt’s stomach twists. “Blaine, I—”

“No, no, it’s okay. We’ll go out another night.”

“Are you sure? We can find another nice restaurant. We can get dressed up and make it a date night.” _Which it should have been already,_ Kurt thinks, though he tries not to linger on it.

“I just want to change into pajamas and have leftovers and a glass of wine with my husband. I just want you. Nothing sounds better to me right now. What do you think?”

Kurt tilts his head thoughtfully. “If we could make pajamas optional, then I would have to agree.”

Blaine laughs that squeaky crying laugh that always tugs at something urgent in Kurt's chest.

He drapes his arms over Blaine’s shoulders and fits their mouths together, breathing in his scent and the sounds he makes and the way his hands automatically find Kurt's jaw in response. This is home, and this is right, even when everything else isn’t.

They're working on it. They're okay.

 


	10. XO

_This is how we’ll become an old married couple_ , Blaine thinks, gently scratching his fingers across Kurt’s scalp. Kurt’s stretched out on top of him with his head on Blaine’s stomach. At the start of their busy week, they’d had every intention of going out, but by the time the weekend rolled around, the idea of doing… well, anything, had become much less appealing. Now they’re snuggling on the couch, food and wine spread out on the coffee table, and though there’s a throwback _Project Runway_ marathon playing on the TV, neither has been paying it any mind.

“Honey, that feels so good,” Kurt sighs, his breath puffing across Blaine’s navel. “You have magic hands.”

Blaine laughs, bouncing Kurt’s head a bit on his stomach. “I love how you just _melt_ every time I do this.”

“Mmm, that’s because it feels _so good_.”

“Babe.”

“What…”

“Come up here.”

Kurt makes some petulant grunting noise into Blaine’s stomach and digs his fingers into Blaine’s sides. “No, I’m comfortable.”  

“Kurrrrt,” he whines, ticklish and squirming.  

“Uggghhhh, fine.” Kurt lifts himself just enough to drag his chest up Blaine’s body. “Lucky I love you,” he says, then kisses Blaine’s nose.

He’s about to drop back down when Blaine puts a hand on his cheek to stop him. Kurt’s lips are soft against his, and a little greasy from that pizza they ordered. He tastes like onions and mushrooms and vaguely Italian spices, but Blaine just pulls him closer and slips his tongue into Kurt’s mouth. “Yeah, I am,” he whispers, pushing his hands into Kurt’s hair again.

When they finally pull apart, Kurt slowly blinks his eyes open, all his teeth showing in that sweet, surprised smile that he reserves for Blaine in moments like these. It reminds Blaine of their early days, when neither of them knew what they were doing, kisses were new, and the idea that they could belong to each other was a novelty.

Kurt just lays there on his chest, gazing at him. “What’s better than being here with you, hmm? This is how people become old married couples.”

Blaine starts giggling uncontrollably, feeling every bit the giddy teenager he was when he first joined lives with this wonderful man laying on top of him.

The mock offense on Kurt’s face flips into real annoyance when Blaine doesn’t stop laughing. He tries to sit up and move off of him, pouting, “Well, if _you_ actually have something better to do, then by all means—”

“No! No, baby, come here.” He’s still laughing, but now he’s got hold of Kurt’s waist and he’s not letting him go. “I just agree with you, that’s all. I literally had that exact thought, not two minutes ago.”

“Oh. We’re on the same page, then.” Kurt snuggles back into him for another kiss. “Mmm, pizza and merlot… your morning breath is going to be disgusting.”

“You’ll kiss me anyway. And yours will match, and I’ll still kiss you, too.”

“Promise?”

“I do.”

 


	11. Flawless

“Blaine, are you… are you twerking?” 

Blaine looks over his shoulder, shaking his ass from side to side in his red boxer-briefs in front of the stove. He hasn’t gelled his hair yet today--he’s been doing that less and less often, as it is--so his curls are a messy riot all over his head. “Good morning, baby! Yes, I’m twerking. How did you sleep?” 

“Not nearly as well as you did, apparently,” Kurt laughs, yawning. He walks over to the speaker where Blaine has his phone docked and turns it up a little; Blaine was obviously keeping it just low enough to hear, since Kurt was asleep. 

The volume change spurs Blaine’s enthusiasm. He holds the spatula above his head and drops his hips a little lower as he works them in a circle. When his legs spread, it just highlights the muscles in his strong, thick thighs and calves. 

Kurt giggles and sits at the table, even as a rush of heat swirls in his belly. He loves watching his husband be so silly and self-assured. He’s sexy all the time, but especially now. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing, honey, I woke up like this. It’s just a good day, you know? I feel good.” 

“You look good,” Kurt replies, leaning forward on his elbows to shamelessly ogle him. Blaine is so fucking  _ gorgeous _ from any and all angles, from top to bottom and inside and out. And when Blaine’s feeling it too, feeling  _ himself _ , he takes Kurt’s breath away. Being loved by someone this hot is surreal, sometimes, and he’s still not used to it after four years of marriage.

Blaine is so attractive that it  _ baffles _ Kurt that he can’t always see himself this way. 

Kurt steps up behind him, sliding his hands around Blaine’s waist to cross his arms over his soft lower belly. Every so often, when Kurt pays this area a little more attention--he  _ loves _ it, it’s his favorite spot to rest his head when Blaine massages his scalp, or when they cuddle, or when Kurt sucks his cock--Blaine shies away, instinctively trying to suck it in, but today, Blaine just keeps swaying his hips, rubbing his ass more purposefully back against him. He tilts his head back against Kurt’s shoulder and kisses his cheek, then resumes his half-dancing, half-cooking motions. 

“B?” 

“Mm-hmm?”

“I need you to fuck me when we’re finished with our pancakes.” 

“Is that so?” 

“Mmm.” Kurt nuzzles into Blaine’s neck, moving one hand into his curls and the other to the waistband of Blaine’s underwear, snapping it playfully. He can’t keep his hands off him.

“You seem to have slept better than you thought.” He can hear the smile in Blaine’s voice as he settles into Kurt’s hold.

Kurt kisses the birthmark just below the base of his neck. “Well, how would you feel if you walked into the kitchen and there were pancakes and all this hot, naked husband in front of you?”

“Pancakes listed first,” Blaine snorts, flipping said pancakes onto a plate and turning off the burner. “I see how it is.” 

God, even after all this time, just hearing him laugh is enough. Kurt wraps him in his arms a little tighter, crowding him into the stove. “I love you so much. And good morning; I don’t think I said it earlier.” 

Blaine sets the spatula aside and turns around in his arms, and Kurt immediately leans forward and kisses him. “Mmm. I love you, too, Kurt.” 

“Nothing makes me happier than seeing you happy. I wish you could feel like this all the time.” 

He laughs again and rests their foreheads together. “No one’s happy all the time, Kurt. But it helps that you still love me when I’m not.” 

“That works both ways, you know.”

“I know. We’ll love each other through everything, right?” 

“Yeah. God, this went from sexy to sappy in no time.” 

“Well, we can go from sappy to  _ syrupy _ to sexy if we hurry up and finish these pancakes. How do you feel about breakfast in bed?” 

“Oh, hell yes.”

  
  



	12. Superpower

_Wednesday, September 18th, 2019_

_THE WATCHLIST_

_It should come as no surprise that the hotly-anticipated LGBTQ+ revival of_ Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? _, which opened last week at the iconic Belasco Theatre, is already a smashing success. For this week’s Watchlist, we snagged a quick chat with not one, but two rising young stars in the Broadway community: the audience favorites, theatrical sweethearts, and critical darlings at the helm of this production, Kurt and Blaine Anderson-Hummel._

WL: Gentlemen, welcome. Let’s get right to it. This isn’t a show that has spent much time in the public consciousness until now. It’s not a title that just rolls off anyone’s tongue. But tickets are already sold out for the next three weeks. What do you think about that?

B: We’re still in shock, to be perfectly honest.

K: Well… Honey, if I may?

B: Of course.

K: There was a lot of buzz during the workshop stage—

WL: And by the way: what a brilliant move it was to premiere the day after the Pride Festival.

K: _[laughs]_ Thank you, we thought it seemed appropriate. The show gathered so much interest during that time, with such a quick turnaround between the workshop and the official premiere, that having momentum on this project was sort of inevitable. We had faith in the show, and felt that we were on to something special. All we had to do was try to surpass expectations. So, as much as I appreciate my husband being so charmingly humble, I have to say: I’m not surprised it’s been a success.

WL: Mr. Anderson-Hummel, your candor is so refreshing. I don’t think it’s a reach to attribute a lot of your success to that.

B: It’s not a reach. You can’t survive on Broadway without courage and vision, and Kurt has both in spades.

K: Don’t forget passion. No one’s got more of that than Blaine.

WL: Definitely. I was going to suggest that the same can be said of you, Mr.—can I call you by your first names for clarity’s sake?

_[Both nod.]_

WL: The same can be said of you, Blaine. No one’s going to forget your first show with Kurt any time soon, and rumor has it that that was your brainchild. _[The Anderson-Hummels’ previous production, a modernized, same-sex reinterpretation of_ West Side Story _, was an off-Broadway hit during its limited run in the spring of last year.]_

B: We’re a team, and each other’s biggest fans. When one of us has an idea, we work together to develop it into something we can both be proud of. And when we’re working solo, we still like to bounce ideas back and forth. It’s kind of funny how that show happened, actually. We were in a production of _West Side Story_ in high school—

WL: Yes, with _Jane Austen Sings_ ’ own Rachel Berry! The YouTube videos are out there.

K: _[laughs]_ Oh, god, they are, aren’t they? Ugh, high school feels like it was forever ago, I looked like a Cabbage Patch doll... Sorry, go on, honey.

B: You did not, Kurt. But anyway, I was joking one day about how much I wished Kurt could have been my love interest in that show—no offense, Rachel, I love you!—and Kurt, not joking, asked for one good reason why he couldn’t. Obviously, I didn’t have one. So, I started outlining, and then Kurt and I built it into a real show. It’s crazy to think that there was a time when we couldn’t have done that without encountering some kind of resistance, but that’s the progressive beauty of theatre. Times have changed.

WL: Blaine, Kurt, you’ve already got two successful productions under your belts. And you’re very young in the grand scheme of things, at 24 and 25, so you’ve got all the time in the world. What’s next? Please tell me the _Titanic_ whisperings aren’t only whisperings.

K: No one has all the time in the world, and we know that rather intimately. We just want to do as much as we can, for as long as we can. As far as the future goes... we’re making some big personal changes soon, and the the details of that are private for now, but professionally, I can confirm: those whisperings you’ve heard will definitely get louder.

WL: Well, that’s the best news I’ve heard all week. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that I can’t wait to see what you two have got for us. Thanks for your time.

 


	13. Heaven

Blaine wakes up with Kurt when his alarm goes off. It’s a sweet wake-up, “morning, baby” on Kurt’s bare shoulder and all that, but Kurt doesn’t reciprocate and just stares at his phone. It’s not unusual for Kurt to be quiet or minimally responsive in the morning, as the night owl. He'll just accept kisses and come back to Blaine once he’s had some time to wake up. But after a second he just sighs and rolls out of bed. Blaine can’t see his face, but he can tell something is off, so he asks if Kurt is okay. Kurt nods, even smiling a little, and goes into the bathroom to brush his teeth, and Blaine doesn’t push.

They go about their morning with Kurt still being quiet. Blaine’s confused, because they have their first ultrasound with Rachel today and they were so excited when they went to bed. And Blaine’s certainly still excited now. So he starts talking about it when they’re eating breakfast, and while it immediately pulls a sincere smile from Kurt, the smile twists, his eyes water, and Kurt says, “Finn would have been such an incredible uncle.”

And Blaine feels the sting of grief, and then the guilt, because while he’d lost a friend and almost-brother-in-law in Finn too, he’d been so excited about Rachel’s appointment he hadn’t looked at the date and seen anything else. “Oh god, it’s the 13th.”

“I’m sorry, this is such a happy occasion, we’re going to see our baby for the first time today, I just—I woke up happy about the appointment but as soon as I saw the date on my phone, it—it’s like it slammed into me all over again, because he should have been here for this, h-he—” Then Kurt breaks off, covering his mouth with his hand when he starts to cry.

Blaine goes to him, wraps him up in his arms. “He would have been so excited.” Blaine knows it isn’t a comfort to his atheist husband to suggest that Finn is their baby’s guardian angel, and he barely believes it himself, so he says, “We’ll make sure the baby knows who their uncle Finn was. You know we will. We protect his memory every chance we get, don’t we?”

“Yeah.” Kurt sniffles and says, “Shouldn’t I be more happy about seeing the baby than I am sad about Finn? I am happy, I’m ecstatic, I promise, but—”

“You can be both, honey. I’m both. This is always a difficult day, and it probably always will be, but now we get to add new memories to it.”

“And _Rachel_ , oh… how is she feeling today? I hadn’t even thought…”

“I’m guessing she’s feeling the same things we are. Plus being very hormonal, according to Jesse.”

Kurt shakes his head, surprised at his own laughter, and looks up at Blaine. They’re both thinking the same thing: _Jesse_. They’ve come to love Jesse, and Rachel is happy. It’s just that the initial plan for their collective future was... different, to say the least.

“She’s excited too, Kurt, you know that. I'm not sure losing someone close like this will ever get easier, but—”

“It does, I'm just not there yet,” Kurt sighs, giving him a sad little shrug when he adds, “Speaking from experience.”

Blaine hugs him again. They sit like that until Kurt's eyes dry and he says, “Okay. Okay. I'm going to give Rachel a call, and then... let's get ready to see our baby.”

 


	14. Blue

Stella Rose Anderson-Hummel is 7 pounds and 7 ounces of perfection.

“She’s so... _alert_ , Blaine, oh my god. See how she’s looking at me?” Kurt has his and Blaine’s newborn daughter held securely in his arms, and he’s sitting down at the end of an exhausted Rachel’s hospital bed, but he’s still scared he’s going to drop her. Especially if he can’t get his emotions under control. All this protection and fear and love and absolutely hysterical euphoria is kind of overwhelming, but the more he watches baby Stella, the more certain he becomes that it isn’t going to go away.

Blaine is terrified he’s going to drop and shatter his phone as he’s recording and lose all this footage of their daughter—their _daughter_ , holy shit—for the exact same reason. He wipes under his wet eyes with the back of one hand and says, “She’s beautiful. Kurt, she looks just like you.”

“What?” Kurt carefully shifts his arms so that a little more light hits her face for the camera. “Are you looking at the same baby? She looks like Rachel.”

Rachel, lying on her side with Jesse sat behind her stroking her hair, laughs softly and says, “Kurt, she looks like both of us.”

Jesse leans over Rachel’s side for a better look. “Well, you’re all visually impaired, because she looks like Blaine. See how dark her eyebrows are already, for a newborn?”

“Jesse, that is absurd—”

“Blaine, honey, he’s right, that’s what I’m saying! So she looks like Rachel, because you and Rachel could be siblings.”

Blaine comes closer with his phone. “Okay, if nothing else, look at her nose. You both have distinct noses, and that is not Rachel’s nose.”

“...Rude.”

“Sweetheart, your nose is perfect. I’ve seen your baby photos. That’s the Hummel nose.”

Kurt runs a finger over Stella’s cheek. “Mmm. Mom’s nose.”

At the gentle touch against her cheek, Stella opens her little pink mouth and turns her head.

“Bottle’s on the table. The pump fucking hurts, by the way,” Rachel yawns.

Blaine rushes to grab it, ignoring the fact that she's swearing in front of the baby so he can return quickly to Kurt’s side. “We can’t thank you enough, Rachel.”

“We really, really can’t,” Kurt sighs, still staring at the baby. “Oh, her hair’s so thick already, she’s so gorgeous.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” she laughs, yawning again. Her eyes slide shut when Jesse moves his hands to knead her back.

Kurt finally looks away from Stella and says, “Blaine, here, give me the camera.”

It takes a few minutes to re-settle, because both of them are so scared of dropping her that they move at a snail’s pace trying to switch her to Blaine, but once Blaine is comfortable on the bed with Stella cradled in his right arm, Kurt picks up Blaine’s phone and keeps recording.

“Stella’s first bottle with Daddy!” Kurt whispers from behind the camera, mindful of Rachel napping next to them even though she could probably sleep through anything right now. “Don’t they look alike?”

Blaine cannot believe this beautiful, fragile, and thankfully healthy infant in his arms is going home with them. They’re fathers. She’s here, and she’s theirs. He wipes his eyes on the little towel resting on his shoulder and picks up the bottle. “Are you hungry, sweet pea?”

Stella’s watching him just as intently as she did Kurt. She makes a quiet gurgling noise in his direction and Blaine thinks his heart might explode.

He doesn’t care what her papa says: the huge, bright blue eyes staring back at him are Kurt’s. That's what makes up Blaine's mind. She has Kurt’s eyes, Kurt’s nose, and Kurt’s sharp, curious expression. Stella is stunning. He and Kurt will probably argue about it for years, as she grows, but Blaine knows what he sees.

“Oh my god. Blaine, I’m so happy right now. I love you both so much.”

Blaine can’t really manage words right now, so he raises the bottle to Stella’s mouth. She responds immediately, blinking up at him and making hungry noises as she has her first breakfast.

“Yeah,” he finally sniffles once he gets his voice back, then kisses her forehead. “Me too.”

 


End file.
